The Crownless King
by BlackNhite
Summary: A youth sans experience meets an old killer. All for the sake of becoming the best. One-shot.


The mall's a nice place; all the humans give it a pleasant scent. It makes me hungry. All the funnier that I should find the object of my next assignment working the food court.

They're not so crowded right now, weekday morning and all that. Monday in October, most people would have more important things to do than lounge around here. Like school… it really has been a while for me huh? At any rate, finding my mark is just that much easier.

Strong people have a certain smell to them, you know.

He's towards the back of the space, front and center before some Mexican themed place. I laugh at the big taco hat; no point in feeling bad, he's already getting some thrills from watching the tanned blonde in the white dress trying to avoid some spilled cola. So we find each other mutually funny, I'm confident enough in the way I look.

He collects himself, somehow managing to avoid spilling his tray of free-sample em… empanadas, was it? He brushes his nose and pushes up his shades almost all at once, other hand offering me the sample tray.

"Up for a taste, _princess_?"

It's warm, I can feel it through my gloves. I smile at him, "It's really that bad?"

"Well," he pauses for effect, "the tiara's kinda pushing it."

I take a bite of the crunchy treat… pretty good. Meaty. Might come back for more when this is done. I swallow and get down to business, a finger jabbed at the tag so lightly placed upon his blue server's vest.

"Travis," I ask, already aware of the answer. I've memorized that face from the photo if the tip of my left pointer pressed against the _"C"_ in _"Touchdown"_ wasn't proof enough.

I get a nice reaction out of him, professional for lack of a better word. He doesn't seize-up so much as sober, calming down a bit. Like he's sunk back into a familiar element. Probably applies more than I'd care to imagine; I just watch him turn and hike back to the stall counter, tossing the tray towards the rather nervous girl at the cash register.

He only turns a bit so I can catch a profile glance, despite that fact that I've already seen his face and thusly have ruined the mystique. Still, the glint of orange from his shades is pretty cool I guess. That modest smile I see playing against his lips is oddly pleasant and I suddenly feel a bit more comfortable.

"First time huh," he comments, looking away fully, "guess it's awkward for some people." I don't catch any intimidation in his words, more like I'm being consoled more than anything else.

"The Crownless King, Travis Touchdown. You're him, huh?"

"They say the first is the hardest," he goes off, disregarding my own words, "Those people are idiots though."

My head quirks sideways, I'm a little curious now.

"Life is weight; with each you take, the burden grows. It can make you strong, it can make you weak, s'all in how you see things. But you feel it clear the tenth time as you did the first, it doesn't just 'go away,' or whatever.

"Those who avoid that weight are fools waiting to be consumed. To walk the path of a killer, you have to embrace that darkness. You live with the addiction and try to justify yourself. But really, s'not much different from any other life, is it?"

Well, they were right, he truly is an interesting man. Little on the old side now, but interesting none the less. There's a sense of newfound comradery between us; I open my mouth to speak but an open palm, thrust towards me, halts my words.

"No words, not yet. You're not quite there, still some hesitation. To battle, no matter the outcome, is a pleasure only warriors may share. Don't ruin my experience with those sentiments of yours." I couldn't see his eyes behind those amber tints. I could feel the intensity of his glare regardless. So that's how it was huh?

I did the first thing that came to mind: bowed. Lifting the hem of my dress in one hand, sweeping out grandly to the side, I gave my rather late introduction, "Kahlua Shuzen, second eldest daughter of the prestigious Shuzen family of vampires, soon to be the #1 assassin."

My target was blushing now, eyes clearly off my face.

"Sorry," he stuttered, fixing his gaze, "but I had a really great view down the front of your dress and… well, yeah."

Eh, couldn't fault a man for his urges.

"Alright," his fingers twitched, arm racing towards his waist, "let's go already!"

Vaulted backwards, right over a table; it felt like one hell of a jump. A line of heat trailed across my back, no actual injury though. I landed and the table split in half, Travis poised rather dramatically in some kind of senshi stance, down on one knee with his arm pointed to the ceiling. It looked sort of like a fluorescent light with a hilt, the thing he was holding. Noting the charred split in the table, I decided better to take the toy-like thing a bit more seriously.

"Come on!"

So there I was, weaving through a barrage of typical sword strikes. Fast ones though, burned a tear clear through the left side of my gown. It made me think of when I used to fight my sisters… but more playful, his enthusiasm fueling my own. My fist, swift and steeled, cut short his sequence.

It gave him a lot less hang time than anticipated, must have absorbed some of the force. The urge to move aside pricked at my skull and I obliged just in time to avoid a screen of light, crescent-shaped and fast moving, streaking past. Caught the praise "Good instincts," before the world blurred out. And then I was behind him.

His hair was a mess of black of grey, I got a good view when my first kick knocked that mesh taco off his skull. He'd dodged that strike. I came in for a second, lower attempt. The Crownless King leapt onto a table and booted the napkin dispenser at my forehead. Lost my tiara…

I couldn't help sounding so joyous, little giggles here and there. The obvious euphoria pasted clear across Mr. Touchdown's face was beyond contagious: it was downright oppressing. Soon enough we were skipping surface to surface, trading blows and scattering diners and their food. I sunk a quick jab into his face; it only raised the level of hysterics.

A wet streak glided over my cheek.

Travis rolled out of his tumble, swiping out with his vibrant weapon. It barely caught the front of my garb, making it a much deeper, and sloppier, v-neck than before. I felt that one; it burned, smoking instead of bleeding. A moments distraction and I was plowed back, a basic shoulder tackle.

We flew through a garbage can, spilling refuse. My knee found his chest and I flipped him up and away just before slamming into a pillar. Mr. Touchdown must have hit that flat top hard to have the entire thing just collapse from under him, but he seemed more than ready to continue, leaping for higher ground.

I was on him in three steps, fading in and out of sight. Through my gloved hands, I fingered the cross shaped trinket whose twin hung proudly from my left ear. Strength flooded me; I directed the flow up the length of my arm. It hurts, it always does.

He really was the #1, a rising slash batting away my bounty of blades with such nonchalance. The table-turned-stage fell off balance and sent us both sliding briefly to the polished tiles. The Crownless King never missed a beat, a true brawler to the end, making use of an apparent opening. Whilst I made to step back, he threw himself forward, sword set to pierce my center.

Poetic that we thought so much alike.

The humming beam of light sat perched breathes away from my head, the smell of burnt hair testament to such a close call. It was overshadowed by the scent of blood. In turn, that was surpassed by the _feel_ of it, flowing down my morphed appendage. Hot, alive, those were the simplest descriptions. Heavy was the foremost.

That wet streak again. My normal hand wiped at my eye, erasing the tears.

He grinned maniacally now. Perhaps he always was, I'd just never had the time to notice. This was the first time I'd thought enough to care. My high steadily faded, replaced by the sensation of being speared through another.

The blood was tempting…

"Pretty good," was whispered, drawing my attention to the stilled assassin. I bit back further tears, unsure of their purpose. He seemed to know enough, "Those for me? A gentleman never refuses a woman's gift."

The Crownless King released his hold on his weapon, its beam retracting as it fell uselessly to the floor. His hands grasped my shoulders, steadying us both. Those shades were starting to become a nuisance, I wanted to see his eyes.

"But don't be sad. Remember what I said, don't ruin this. You won, you should be happy, proud even." Half his weight left me as he reached towards his temple, gripping the frame between two fingers. Brown, plain, and yet full of majesty; a beautiful contradiction. These were eyes of the world, ones that knew the sight of truth.

"You… are #1 now."

With that, the fallen king pushed off, freeing himself of my invasive appendage. The bladed wings warped back into something… similar to their original form, not quite restrained without the aid of my second rosary. Travis fell to his knees, torso soaked in sticky crimson. He made no sign that he noticed, breathing calm and face composed with that same pleasant smile from earlier. His head was down when next he spoke, "Finish it."

The first time… it really is hard.

* * *

"I'm sorry. I don't work here, just borrowing this."

That was the fifth one in the last hour, I'm sure he was getting a real cackle out of this. When he'd offered me a spare uniform, I hadn't really thought about the inclusion of the vest. I was sorely regretting that one oversight, I'd gone from the untouchable princess to the suddenly approachable girl who works at Border Crossing.

The remains of my former gown were now serving a much nobler purpose as the tainted wrappings of a heavily wounded, and gluttonous it seemed, former #1. Better on him than me, I hadn't realized the extent of the damage until the end, with the aid of Travis' skills of observation. One old man's comment on how dark my nipples were was enough for one day.

"You sure you don't need to go to the hospital?"

"Neh, I've seen worse – hell, done worse to people. Just need some grub in me," he shoveled another mouthful of rice and meat into his maw.

I gulped down my third empanada of the afternoon, "I know it tastes good but… really, there's a hole in your chest."

"So what? We stopped the bleeding now I just gotta replace some body. And plus," he stuck out a spoonful of greasy meat, "look at this, pure protein! Guaranteed to put growth on your chest!"

Funny man. Two could play at that game, I pushed away my dish and crossed my arms a little higher on my chest than was comfortable. "In that case, I'd better slow down."

Poor Travis, laughed himself right out of his chair.

Grinning fully, I traced a naked finger over the smooth accessory perched atop my head, ignorant of how its tawny lenses caught the artificial light.

_{An old story of mine, couple years actually. Just sort of dug it up today and read through it. I'd planned for the longest on doing a re-write but could never find an idea that stuck. Reading it over, I realized I was happy enough with my first image. Little polish here and there (very little) and I felt it was ready to be presented once more._

_Kahlua was an interesting personality to work with. I tried to portray her as not so much "childish" but rather "vapid" in a sense. She has really brief thoughts and I wanted to capture that in her narrative._

_This story is somewhat meant to be Kahlua's "Start of Darkness" with this one job, thisinitiation, set to paint her perception of being a professional killer from then on. Because of that I felt an older Travis would be the only way to do this properly, make a sort of twisted Obi Wan figure for the little vampire._

_I'm versed enough in the **No More Heroes** universe to know it has a certain atmosphere to it. Still, I didn't think it would have been appropriate to take things too far off the grid what with the theme of a more mature Travis and the presence of Kahlua who is not a set piece in that universe. I opted for the more subdued, sage-like feel you receive from the more... philosophical assassins you meet throughout the games._

_Did want to keep that videogame feel though so immediately this tense scene is followed up with something out of an arcade tournament with our competitors sitting down to a few burritos and trading smack. Letting Travis live also served in showing us how unsuited Kahlua is to her profession._

_Symbolically Kahlua's ignorance of her soon-to-be-trademark Berserker Tears is a sign of her being a novice. She's far too consumed in the rush of fighting to realize that she's in a life or death struggle, something she learns quite clearly here. Bit more subtle is the swapping of "crowns", Kahlua losing her tiara and, at the end, wearing Travis's shades in its place._

_Alright, that's enough out of me. God speed readers.}_


End file.
